


One of Those Nights

by PengyChan



Category: Batman: The Animated Series
Genre: Gen, M/M, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Psychological Torture, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-26
Updated: 2014-11-30
Packaged: 2018-02-18 19:36:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2359796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PengyChan/pseuds/PengyChan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being locked up in Arkham under Lyle Bolton's charge was wose than any of them could have imagined.  Set before/during/after the "Lock-Up" episode.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One of Those Nights

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fic I began writing back in 2008 and man, wasn't my English bad. So I decided to fix it up a bit and post the chapters here as well as I fix them. Maybe it will motivate me to FINALLY finish this thing, since I've left off very close to its end.

Silence is a luxury you rarely can enjoy in Arkham.

There is just  _something_  about the place. Night and day, the air is always filled with scrams, curses, mad laughters, cries, prayers. They seem to chase you, echoing inside your brain until you think that they will never stop, that you will still ear them for the rest of your life. The first days in are almost unbearable: those screams and curses and cries can drive you crazy. Well, even crazier than usual, at least. You cannot be an Arkham inmate and be totally sane after all, can you?

Oh, you get used to it after a while – if you make it through the first week, of course. You learn to just ignore them, to keep them out of your mind.

Still, you begin to yearn silence more than anything else besides freedom. Even more than revenge on the Bat. Just a few minutes of silence would be enough to make you feel like a free man. _Almost._

But you can still close your eyes and pretend you are somewhere else. Nothing illegal about  _that_.

That night was one of  _those_  nights – when most of the inmates had been sedated after a fight that had happened in the cafeteria that morning. One of the few nights when you can just lie back in your bed, close your eyes and enjoy the silence.

That was exactly what Professor Jonathan Crane, otherwise known as the Scarecrow, was doing right now.

He frowned as silence was broken by the sound of footsteps approaching, but as he recognized those footsteps – the same footsteps that had been plaguing his dreams for a few months now – he bolted upright in the bed, his annoyance quickly replaced by a quite different emotion: fear. Ironically enough the Scarecrow, the Master of Fear himself, was currently scared to death, his bony frame shaking pitifully in the darkness of his cell, his eyes wide with utter terror as he listened the footsteps approaching.

_Not him. Not him. Oh please, please, don't let it be him…_

He gave a silent sigh of relief as he heard something else – the sound of something being dragged on the floor, and the sound of broken sobs. It seemed that Lyle Bolton, Chief of Security of Arkham Asylum, had already given vent to his sadism for that night. He heard the door of the nearby cell being opened, and the sound of something – someone, in this case – being carelessly thrown on the floor. The door was slammed closed again, and those dreadful steps receded down the hallway. Crane could even hear Bolton humming as he left – that sick bastard.

As Bolton's steps finally faded away, everything was silent again – except for the broken, shaking sobs that came from Jervis Tetch's cell.

Careful to not make a sound – he didn't want to be caught doing anything irregular under Bolton's management, thank you so much – Crane slowly removed a certain loosened brick from the wall between his cell and Tetch's. He put it down on the mattress and turned to the hole communicating with the Mad Hatter's cell.

"Jervis?" he called, keeping his voice barely above a whisper. "Are you alright?"

The only answer he got were a few more sobs and whimpers. Well, it was a stupid question anyway –  _of course_  he wasn't alright: nocturnal close  _encounters_  with Lyle Bolton were often quite painful and always terribly humiliating. He could tell. He knew more than he'd have ever wished to on the matter.

Squinting in the dim light coming from the small window, high enough to keep him from even looking outside, he could see the trembling form of Jervis Tetch curled up in a fetal position on the cold floor. He wasn't actually crying, for he didn't seem to have tears to cry anymore, but the dry sobs and pitiful whimpers that kept leaving his lips were heart wrenching to hear. Or at least they would have been, had Crane been more of a bleeding heart. Thankfully, he was not.

Bleeding hearts have no business to be in Arkham, or anywhere in this world.

"I… it hurts," Tetch finally whimpered. "He  _hurt_  me."

"I know," Crane simply said, already knowing what Tetch was talking about. He wasn't sure he could do anything to soothe the man's pain. Honestly, he wasn't even sure he  _wanted_  to – it was none of his business, after all. Still, he shifted to sit more comfortably on the hard mattress, getting ready to listen whatever Tetch may wish to say about his dreadful experience. He was…he  _had been_  a professor of psychology, after all. Old habits die hard.

Besides, he couldn't help but feel some small measure of sympathy for him. He knew what it felt like, having been through it several times, and he knew that the first one was always the worst. It was no wonder he was so shaken – the Ventriloquist hadn't recovered yet, and it had been quite some time since his last  _encounter_  with Bolton now.

"I guess it was his way to welcome you back in Arkham – he's the new Chief of Security. I suggest you to get used to it. It's most likely going to happen again."

Tetch sobbed louder at his statement. "W…why  _would_  he...?" he whimpered.

"Good question. There could be a number of answers; if you want my opinion, he's not much different from most of us. He likes to control everyone within his reach, to cause people suffering for his own amusement, to prove himself as superior…"

As the Mad Hatter let out a keening noise, Crane thought back of how Bolton had laughed while he cried out, unable to bear the searing pain, begging him to stop.

"I'm n… nothing like him," Tetch choked out.

Crane thought for a moment, then he shook his head. No, not Jervis: he had brainwashed people in order to get what he wanted – something involving a girl named Alice, if he recalled correctly – but he didn't seem the kind of man who would purposely hurt anyone for his own amusement.

"No," he said slowly. "You're not like him."

 _I am_ , he mentally added. He may have never resorted to such a  _vile_  thing, but there was no denying that watching people cower in fear before him made him feel more powerful than anything else in the world.

Tetch sniffled. His sobs were slowly ceasing, but he was still curled on the ground, shivering, blond hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. It was a pitiful sight, indeed.

"J… Jonathan? Are you still there?"

"No, I walked out through the wall," Crane sarcastically. Still a small smirk formed on his lips as he thought back at the ghost tales he used to read as a child, the ones with ghosts walking through the walls to frighten people. His smirk widened at the thought of a frightening ghost floating inside Bolton's office, scaring him out of his wits…

"I though you went down the White Rabbit's hole," Tetch simply said, this time without sobbing.

Crane sighed and rolled his eyes. He should have expected him to say something related t _o Alice in Wonderland_  sooner or later. "Jervis, you should get on your bed now. Sleeping on the floor won't do you any good."

"I can't move. It hurts too much," Tetch whimpered, refusing to move. He suddenly looked much like a little boy refusing to go to school.

Crane frowned. "Did he not use lubricant?"

"He… he did, I guess" Jervis sniffled again, his voice shaking. "But it was still painful, it was..." he fell silent, words failing him.

"You've been lucky, then: he isn't always that considerate," Crane said bitterly. "Now get up from the floor and get on your bed. It will be worse if you don't – trust me, I know."

"W…what if he comes back for me again?" Tetch asked, shivering once again.

"He got what he wanted. He won't bother you for the next few weeks. Not this way, at least."

There was a brief silence, then - slowly, despite the fact every inch of his bruised body was likely screaming in agony - Jervis Tetch stood up. He walked to the bed, wincing in pain all the way, and leaned on the mattress with a weary sigh, wrapping the rough blanket around himself. He closed his eyes, his breath slowly growing steadier.

"It's silent tonight," he finally mumbled.

"I know", Crane leaned down on his mattress as well, staring at the ceiling. "It's one of those nights. If you close your eyes you can almost pretend you're somewhere else."

"Oh, yes…" the Mad Hatter said softly, his eyes tightly shut. "I can pretend I'm in Wonderland, and thers's the March Hare… and Alice, too. Do you think she would join the dance now?"

_Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."_

"... If you want her to, she will. Your mind is your own Wonderland – you told this to me, Jervis, remember? You can make anything happen in your mind, and Bolton cannot take this away from you. No one can."

"That's true. My own Wonderland…" Tetch whispered moments before drifting off to sleep. "We're all mad here," he mumbled what was probably his first truly accurate statement in quite a while. "We're all mad…"

Jonathan Crane stayed awake for a while longer, listening to the silence. However, he wasn't pretending to be somewhere else now – he was trying to figure out a way to escape. He wasn't going to just wait his turn to be tortured by that sick bastard. He had to find a way out: Bolton was most likely going to make him pay dearly if he was caught, but he was willing to take the risk at this point.

Still, no matter how hard he tried to concentrate about the necessity to escape: the only thing he could think of was Tetch's words just before drifting off to sleep.

_We're all mad here._

Well, maybe the escape plan could wait until tomorrow: Bolton would have waited some time before striking again. Now everything he needed was some worry-free sleep, the kind of sleep he could nobody could get in Arkham – but he could get it now.

Because, he thought as sleep finally swept him away, it was one of  _those_  nights.


	2. The Plan

Crane gave a suspicious look at his plate, half-filled with something that vaguely resembled some kind of greyish slime.  _Breakfast_ , as it was apparently called.

"Alright," he said, putting the spoon on the table. "I'm not eating this first."

"Me neither!" Harley Quinn made a face. "It smells, too. Bleach!"

"I… I think mine just moved," said Arnold Wesker, otherwise known as the Ventriloquist. He shifted uncomfortably as the others glanced at him. He was a meek, timid man, and he always seemed to be utterly uncomfortable around people – let alone around other inmates. His fingers fidgeted around Mr. Scarface's jacket.

"Hey, don't ya look at me!" the puppet shouted, even though no one had bothered to look at it. Him. Whichever. "I ain't having any of this!" He turned to Wesker. "If you want me to eat this stuff ya have to eat it first, Dummy!"

"Maybe we should flip a coin," Harley suggested as Wesker desperately tried to convince his second personality not to use him as a guinea pig. "To decide who goes first…"

Crane raised an eyebrow. "Do you have a coin?"

She shook her head. Of course she didn't, for there wasn't much use for money in Arkham. Two-Face was the only inmate who always had a coin with him, but he had escaped about a couple of months before Bolton's arrive. He had been a lucky guy – no one had escaped since.

"I…I don't feel like eating at all."

Both Harley and Wesker recoiled at the sound of Tetch's feeble voice. He had been so silent the whole time that nearly everyone at the table had just forgotten his presence. They looked at him as if it was the first time they saw him.

Despite the night of fairly quiet sleep, Tetch really looked terrible: he was horribly pale, his eyes swollen and reddened by the tears he had shed the night before. A bruise was forming on his forehead, for his head had most probably been slammed against the floor when Bolton had forced him to lie down, and he kept shifting as if he couldn't find a comfortable position on the chair. His hands were shaking so much that he could barely keep his grasp on the spoon, and he kept glancing around nervously. Thankfully, that was Bolton's day off: Crane was sure Tetch would have a panic attack is he was to see him anywhere around, and as much as he thought it would have been interesting enough to witness he didn't wish poor Tetch more trouble than he had already been through.

"Gosh, Jervis," Harley frowned slightly, looking at him. "What happened to you? You look terrible!"

"Yeah, ya look like ya've been ran down by a truck!" Mr. Scarface said. Ever the gentleman.

"B…Bolton, was all Tetch needed to say. A deep, terrified silence immediately fell upon the group. Scarface's wooden jaw closed so abruptly is clicked loudly.

Tetch swallowed and shifted uncomfortably. "D…don't look at me like that!" he said, his voice shaking. Harley and Wesker quickly turned their gaze away from him, looking intently at their plates with oddly gazed eyes. They both had their share of dreadful experiences with Bolton. Wesker was literally shaking at the though, and even Scarface stayed silent – probably remembering the Bolton's termite treatment the previous week.

The only one who didn't turn away was Crane.

"You need to go to the infirmary," he said in a deadly quiet voice despite the twinge of fear he had felt as Tetch had named the chief of security. "Putting up any resistance with him is a mistake, as you may have noticed. How does your back feel?"

"M…my back?"

"The scratches. Do they hurt?"

Tetch shuddered. "How do you know about the scratches?"

Crane snorted a little. "Take a guess."

The Mad Hatter bit his lower lip. "... Yes," he said quietly. "It hurts."

"You have to get them cleaned and treated, or else they may become infected."

Tetch cringed. "I…will clean them by myself. We have to shower later, and–"

"So you're going clean up open, bleeding wounds with in the filthiest common shower on this bloody planet, with the aid of hot water and that excuse of soap they give us. How nice," Crane said sarcastically. "By all means, Jervis, I suggest you to reconsider. You need disinfectant, clean bandages and possibly some painkillers."

"But how could I explain this to the doctors?" Tetch's voice shook as if he was on the verge of tears. "Bolton said that if I ever told anyone–"

"I  _know_  what he said," Crane almost snarled. "Just tell the doctors you got them from yesterday's fight. They will believe you – they will  _chose_  to believe you," he said bitterly.

There was a long silence. Tetch looked down at the table, avoiding his gaze.

"Besides," Crane added, trying to reassure him somehow. "Today Bolton isn't here – Tuesday is his free day, remember? Fixing you up a bit won't take more than a few hours. You will be back in your cell by this afternoon, and Bolton will never even  _know_  you went to the infirmary."

Tetch bit his lower lip. "I guess you're right," he finally said as he carefully got up, wincing slightly in pain. "I'll ask the guards to take me to the infirmary. And…Jonathan?"

"What?"

"Well…thanks for–" he paused. "I mean, thanks for the advice."

Crane dismissively waved his hand, ignoring the slight pang of guilt. Yes, maybe he did feel some pity for the poor fellow – but truth to be told, he had convinced Tetch to take care of his wounds for a merely egoistical reason.

Now that Lyle Bolton had chosen him as his last victim, he was going to divide his…  _attention_  among more people, which meant each one of them was going to be brought to his office less often... about once a month, considering that now it was four of them. Not counting Scarface, of course. That was why he didn't want Tetch become seriously ill: he didn't want Bolton to turn his attention back to him anytime soon. But the Mad Hatter didn't seem to realize his true motivation, and it was probably better this way.

"You're welcome," he said flatly as Tetch limped away. He didn't go far though: after just a few steps Tetch stumbled forward and fell on the ground with a pained whimper.

"Jervis!"

Crane and Harley quickly got up and approached to the fallen man. "Jervis, are you–"

Harley turned away with an almost comically disgusted look as Tetch threw up his last meal on the floor. "Bleach!"

"Damnit!" Crane turned to the Wesker, who was standing slightly behind. "Go call the guards, Arnold. Tell them Jervis is sick.  _Go!_ "

As the Ventriloquist obeyed, Crane turned back to Tetch. "Jervis?" he called. "How are you feeling?"

The Mad Hatter didn't answer immediately. He looked up with gazed, distant eyes. "Alice?" he finally called weakly, a moment before passing out.

Crane blinked, stunned.  _Alice?_

"Huh… I think he was talking to me, professor," Harley said from behind him with a small giggle, looking at the unconscious man. "I don't think you look like an Alice. No offense intended."

"Oh." Crane couldn't help but chuckle as he stepped away from Tetch, leaving him to the approaching guards. "I should hope I don't," he said just as three guards walked up to them and Tetch.

"So. Care to explain what the hell happened here?" one of the them asked.

"He got involved in yesterday's fight in the cafeteria," Crane lied. "He wasn't feeling well since then, and now he just collapsed."

The guard sighed. "Yeah, that sad attempt at a riot gave us a lot of extra work." He turned to the others guards. "Alright guys, get him to the infirmary."

"Imbeciles," Crane mumbled under his breath as they dragged Tetch away. "A bunch of  _imbeciles_."

"Look on the bright side," Harley suggested, sitting back at the table. "They won't ask any questions. So… is anyone going to eat this stuff? "

"Not me," Crane grumbled, pushing the plate away from him. He turned away and just stared ahead for a while, saying nothing, trying to figure out a way to escape that living hell before it was  _his_ turn again.

* * *

Jonathan had been right: the doctors had chosen to believe him.

They hadn't even questioned him about the suspicious bloodstain on his trousers: they had just given him another pair without any further question. If they even suspected anything – and, as much as he tried, Jervis just couldn't bring himself to believe they didn't – had most likely thought it had been some other inmate.

It wasn't like they cared anyway. After cleaning his worst wounds and loading him with painkillers they had just handed him back to the guards without a second glance. Seconds later they had probably forgotten a man named Jervis Tetch even existed. The though that his possible  _recover_  to become a  _functional member of society_  was in their hands was laughable.

Too bad, Tetch didn't feel like laughing right now. He was sure not even the Joker could find it in himself to laugh over a such thing. Not if it happened to him, at least.

It was probably better this way, he kept telling himself. He didn't even want to  _think_  about Bolton's possible reaction in case anyone found out what he did to some inmates. Still, being treated like some… _animal_ with an annoying disease was really humiliating.

How long had it been since he had been brought back in his cell? Was it two, three hours ago? Time was such an abstract concept in there. It seemed to stretch endlessly. There really was  _something_ about Arkham; sometimes he could have sworn time stood still in there.

"And ever since that," Tetch quoted in a whisper, his gaze fixed and distant, "he won't do a thing I ask! It's always six o'clock now…"

He shifted slightly on the mattress, trying to find a comfortable position. He was lying on his stomach, for there wasn't any other position he could take. The pain from the scratches had subsided greatly, but he wasn't going to push his luck by lying on his back – and he definitely didn't feel like sitting. He rose on his elbows, sadly looking up at the window. If he only he could look outside…! He hated being stuck between four walls most of the day.

When he had been brought back in Arkham a few days before he hadn't lasted more than half a day before slamming himself against the door, begging anyone who could hear him to just let him out. Which had led him to the painful discovery that the new chief of security, whom he hadn't had the misfortune to meet yet, had electrified the doors.

The thought of Bolton made Tetch shiver again. That man was insane. Most people may have though he wasn't in the position to say something like this about anyone – but what did other people know? Bolton was worse than him, worse than most inmates he had met. Yes, Bolton was  _insane_. The way he had  _laughed_  while he begged him to stop would never leave his mind. No sane creature could ever be so…  _satisfied_  by torturing another human being like that.

And it was going to happen again. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow – but he knew Bolton would soon claim him again. He would come at night – like a boogeyman, Jonathan would have said, though Jervis thought of him more like the Jabberwocky. He would open the door of his cell and with that disturbing grin of his and…

Tetch shut his eyes tightly, desperately trying to think about something else – but nothing came to his mind.

_"God, no…please… please, stop...no…"_

The sound of the door of the nearby cell being opened and then closed again saved him from his own morbid thoughts: Crane was back from the therapy session. A sigh of relief escaped him. At least he could speak with someone now – this would help to keep such thoughts out of his mind, at least until night.

"Jonathan?" he called, shifting on the mattress so he could pull the loosened brick from the wall. "Is that you?"

"Who else did you expect, Tetch? The Cheshire Cat?" a bitter voice answered.

Yes, it was definitely Jonathan. "How did your therapy session go?"

Crane shrugged. "It was useless, as always. How are you feeling now?"

Tetch shifted uneasily. "Better, I guess. I have to go back there for medication tomorrow morning."

"Good. Here, take this."

Tetch blinked as he saw what Crane was handing him trough the hole in the wall. "Toilet paper?"

"I  _don't_  have to explain you what it is for, do I?" Crane said coldly.

Jervis blushed violently as the realization hit him. "Oh. I …no, I understand. Thank you," he said, taking it. He hesitated before speaking again. "When will I stop bleeding?" he asked after a few moments.

Inside his own cell, Crane scowled at the realization that Tetch was sounding as if  _he_  had been the one who had done something wrong.

"Soon enough. A couple of days, I think," Crane said.  _N_ _ext time it will hurt_  less, he thought, but he didn't say it aloud. The less Tetch thought about what would soon happen again, the better it was.

"I understand. Thank you for–"

"Just let it go, will you?" Crane cut him off, resting back on the mattress. It wasn't like he felt guilty – he hadn't felt guilty about using people for his experiments, so there was no way he could ever feel guilty about fooling someone as naïve as Tetch – but the way he kept thanking him was rather annoying. How could he be so stupid to not realize he  _needed_  him to get better for his own advantage? To have someone else Bolton could turn his attention to?

_He will not be thanking me in a few weeks._

"Oh."

There was a brief silence.

"Jonathan?"

"What?"

"Do you truly think he will come after me again?"

"Yes, he will – but he will leave you alone for a while. It's like he has a scheme: his next target should be Arnold, then Harley and then–" he abruptly stopped in the mid-sentence and glanced blankly at the wall.

No, not again – he couldn't bear it. He had to find a way out before it was too late.

Tetch seemed relieved by his words. Free form any immediate worry, his mind immediately began to drift away from reality. There are some advantages in having your mind lost in the realms of fantasy sometimes, Crane mused. In a way he was fascinated by Tetch's capacity to completely cut out the outside world from his mind. Some people confronted their problems and fears – Tetch just turned away from them, hiding his conscious self in a place where they couldn't reach him.

Had he met him in another situation, he was sure Tetch would have made an extremely interesting subject for his experiments.

"Jonathan?"

"What  _again_?" Crane snapped, clearly annoyed by his insistence.

"Why is a raven like a writing desk?" he asked, once again quoting  _Alice in Wonderland_  – the Mad Hatter's riddle without solution.

The Scarecrow's lips curled in a faint smile. "Because Edgar Allan Poe wrote on both," he said, telling one of the possible answers that had been considered over the years – and his personal favourite, for obvious reasons.  _The Raven_  had always been one of the poems he was most fond on.

Tetch chuckled. "I was  _sure_  you would have said that one," he said. There was a brief pause. "I wonder what The Riddler would answer."

"It would be interesting to hear his take on it," Crane admitted. "But he's on the loose right now. Lucky bastard. For his sake, he had better keep his head down. All those lucky enough to be outside should."

"Joker's on the loose too," Tetch said, a bit hesitantly – he still was kind of a newbie among the Gotham's rogues, and he still felt a bit uncomfortable about the Joker. Crane was sure he would get used to him soon enough. They all did. "If he were to find out… you know… what Bolton did to his girlfriend…" he stopped talking, trying to get the thought of Bolton out of his mind again.

Crane couldn't help but grimace at the thought. He had always been oddly fond on Harley, maybe because she had been a psychologist as well before the Joker poisoned her mind. She was one of the few to show him respect, and the only one who still addressed him as 'Professor Crane' from time to time. Honestly, he couldn't tell which of her misadventures had been the worst: falling so desperately in love with the Jokeror becoming one of Bolton's favourite targets. Maybe the former, since she wouldn't have landed in there in the first place hadn't the Joker corrupted her mind."

"Jonathan? Are you – ?"

Crane gritted his teeth. For an genius of electronics, he mused, Tetch could be unbelievably stupid and annoying. He had always hated children, and now he was stuck with an overgrown child. Fate had sense of humor. " _Of course_  I'm still here," he growled.

"What do you think then?" Jervis insisted. He sounded almost hopeful. "If Joker finds out, he would be after Bolton in a moment…"

Crane thought about it for a moment. It was true on a way – even though he often treated his…  _girlfriend_  worse than rubbish, knowing that somebody had raped someone who belonged to him would probably enrage him enough to go after Bolton. And, as terrifying as Bolton was there in Arkham, he was sure he wouldn't stand a chance against an enraged Joker loose in Gotham. Maybe…

Jonathan covered his eyes with a hand. "Oh,  _God_. Are we really  _so_  desperate that we're hoping for help from  _Joker_?"

Tetch shrugged. "I think so."

"Marvellous. I think my life has just hit a new low."

"It could be worse."

"Yes. We may be hoping for help from the Bat."

There was a brief silence.

"Well…"

"Don't. Say. It."

"Shutting up."

Another silence.

"Who are we trying to fool?" Crane said gloomily. "There is no way for the Batman or the Joker to find out what's going on in here, simply because none of us is going to make it outside to tell anyone. Not under Bolton's charge. And I highly doubt any of us would be believed even if we did."

Tetch sighed. "If only I could have my mind control chips..."

"There is no way you can build one here, is there?"

"No. They won't let me get near any electronic device," Jervis said mournfully, shifting slightly to find a more comfortable position.

"I should have guessed. I cannot get near any kind of medicine without being watched by half a dozen guards as well."

"Afraid you could use them to create some fear toxin?"

"Yes," Crane couldn't help but grin. "Very afraid."

"At least the never leave alone in the infirmary to wait for the doctor for nearly twenty minutes," Tetch whined. "It wasn't nice, not at all…"

"Wait," Crane suddenly said, sitting up on the mattress as if something had just hit him. "They left you alone in the infirmary?" he asked, cursing himself for not thinking about it before.

"Uh…yes," Tetch blinked, clearly not getting what was it that Crane found so exciting about it. "Why?"

Crane grinned. The Mad Hatter wasn't considered much of a threat by most guards, and he knew almost nothing about chemicals past the very basics – so it made sense that the guards had been careless enough to leave him alone in the infirmary. Without Bolton's watchful eye, they could be surprisingly foolish. The Scarecrow's grin widened as he remembered what Jervis had told him about having to go back to the infirmary the next morning. Bolton wouldn't be back from his time off until noon. I they were lucky enough, Tetch would be alone in the infirmary again, just enough to…

"I think I have a plan, Jervis – a plan to get out of this hellhole. Now listen close, here's what you have to do…"


	3. Escape

Privileges are extremely important in Arkham, almost as much as money in the outside world.

Being part of the privileged ones is almost a social status in there, no matter how apparently insignificant those privileges maybe: the permission to keep plants in her cell for Poison Ivy, the coin for Two-Face, cards for Joker, crossword puzzles for the Riddler, the puppet for the Ventriloquist, some humorous gadgets for Harley Quinn, books for the Scarecrow…

And, of course, the hat for the Mad Hatter.

"I must admit," Crane said with a wide grin as he looked down at the medicines Tetch had handed him through the usual hole in the wall, "that this annoying hat of yours turned out to be rather useful as a hiding place."

Tetch hummed in agreement. "Oh, yes, nobody ever thought to check under it," he said. "Are those the right ones?"

Crane took a closer look at the medicines, his grin widening as he read their chemical components. "Yes, they're the right ones. Perfect."

"Can you really create your fear toxin out of them without a lab?"

"Can you create a mind control chip with the components but without the appropriate instruments?"

Tetch hesitated. "Well… yes, I suppose I could, with some tweaking. But they wouldn't be as effective."

"Precisely. The toxin that will come out of these won't be as good as the usual one, but it will be powerful enough to help me escape from this hell," the Scarecrow said, his eyes still fixed on the medicines, a triumphant gleam in his gaze.

"Help you?"

"Us," Crane quickly corrected himself – now that Tetch knew about his plan, he couldn't take the risk to have him spoil everything; he had to let him escape as well, or at least let him think he would. "To let  _us_  escape from here."

"Oh," childishly naïve as he was, Tetch seemed reassured already. "So… we're getting away soon. Aren't we, Jonathan?"

"Not before next week," Crane said quietly, carefully hiding the medicines in a small hole under the floor and covering it once again with the small nightstand he was allowed to keep.

"Next week?" Tetch sounded somewhat disappointed.

"We cannot take the risk of doing anything irregular with Bolton around. You know how often he checks if we're doing something forbidden, looking for a good excuse to punish us. You don't want to upset him, do you?"

No answer came from the other cell, and he knew Tetch was shivering. Crane couldn't hep but smirk bitterly. It felt good being able to scare someone without his toxin, but the fact it was the thought of Bolton to scare him rather than  _him_  kind of ruined the moment.

"We'll have to wait until his next day off. It won't be fun having him around another week, but he shouldn't… not  _that_  way, at least. Wesker should be his next target. I'll… I mean, we'll be out before he turns that kind of attention back to us."

Tetch gave what sounded much like a relieved sigh. "Fine," he said. "What will we do next?"

"I have no idea," Crane admitted. "The only thing I can think of right now is that I want to get as far as possible from this place. Just one thing, Jervis – once we're out of here, we'll split up."

"But…"

"No buts – we'll go for separate ways, and that's final," Crane said firmly. He was not his babysitter, and there was no way he would look after him. Besides, two escaped Arkham inmates were easier to find than one. They'd both have better chances if each stayed on his own.

Tetch sighed. "Alright," he mumbled. Crane would tell he worried at the thought of being left alone outside, with no place to go, but he wasn't in the mood to listen to his concerns. Before he could voice them Crane put the brick back in place, preventing any further conversation.

With the hole gone, the Mad Hatter sighed and sank in his mattress, staring at the wall with glazed eyes.

"Twinkle, twinkle, little bat – how I wonder what you're at…"

* * *

Jonathan Crane awoke at the sound of a metallic click. Still half-asleep, he let out a low groan and tried to move – but for some reason he couldn't: something was holding his hands above his head.

His eyes suddenly snapped open, and he was completely awake within instants. Shock and utter terror took over his mind as he realized what the metallic click had been, and what the sudden coldness he felt around his wrists meant – he had been handcuffed to the bedpost.

And there was only one person who could be twisted enough to sneak inside his cell and chain in down to the bed.

_Bolton._

He let out a panicked whimper as he recognized the massive figure looming over him. He could barely see his features in the dim light, but he could easily picture the grinning face staring down at him. He opened his mouth, all his sense telling him to scream, but no sound came out – not as Bolton's large hand gripped his neck, nearly chocking him.

"My advice to you," Bolton's harsh whisper echoed in the cell. "Don't make a sound. You don't want to make anyone nervous, do you?" he added smoothly, his grip around Crane's neck loosening slightly to let him breathe.

Crane drew in a rattling breath and nodded quickly, his eyes huge with fear. He was sure Bolton was grinning now – much like he used to do every time he had his victims trembling in front of him, mad with fear.

What did he want? Had he found out about the missing medicines? Had he understood what had happened? Had Jervis betrayed him? His eyes darted to the nightstand under which the medicines were hidden. It was still on the same spot as before.

"Good boy." Much to Crane's relief, Bolton drew back his hand and walked to the small bookshelf on the other wall of the cell, turning his back to him and the nightstand.

"Privileges," he muttered, as if the word left a nasty taste in his mouth. "What have you ever done in your life to deserve  _privileges_ , Crane? Probably nothing," he went on before the terrified inmate could think of what he should answer. Then again, he probably didn't expect any answer at all. "And yet you're allowed to have you  _books_ ," he spat out the last word as if it was poison.

He turned back to the prisoner and reached to grab his red air, lifting him as much as the handcuffs permitted and causing a pained whimper to leave his lips. Crane gritted his teeth, trying to hold back any other sound.

"No wonder things were such a mess before I came here," he growled. "They are too kind to the lot of you. They think they can  _cure_  you – bullshit, if you ask to me. Scum like you must be kept in line, and it is exactly what I'm going to do."

He roughly threw Crane's back on the mattress. There was a dull thud as Crane's head hit the bedpost, and he could feel his consciousness slipping away. He could faintly hear a sound of ripped paper as Bolton turned his attention back to his books, then everything went blissfully black.

* * *

He awoke a few minutes later at the sound of the door of his cell being slammed closed again – Bolton had clearly decided he had done enough for that nigh. Crane was still chained and his head throbbed, but it could be worse. He gazed at the undisturbed nightstand, avoiding to look at the bookshelf; he had a good idea of what Bolton had done to his books. That sound of ripping paper had become damn familiar to him since when he was a child.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. At least he hadn't found the medicines: Crane refused to think about what could have happened if he had. He breathed a little easier as he thought about his imminent escape: in less than a week he would be free, and Bolton would only be a frightening memory.

He refused to think of what Bolton could do to him if he was caught and brought back in Arkham; the mere idea could be enough to make him panic, and last thing he needed now was a panic attack. Yes, there were risks involved - but he had to try, he had to get away from there. He couldn't just stay there and wait for –

"No, that's mine!" Jervis Tetch's voice, muffled by the wall, snapped him off his morbid thoughts. "That's my hat! Put it down! Put it down, you Jabber –  _ow_!"

Crane gritted his teeth as he heard the sound of a smack, immediately followed by a pained yelp. It appeared that he hadn't been the only one Bolton had decided to visit and strip of all privileges, after all. He wondered if he had done the same to Harley Quinn and the Ventriloquist as well.

He had to admit he was rather surprised by the fact Tetch had dared to react: he was maniacally attached to his hat, but he didn't expect him to raise his voice with Bolton to get it back – not after what had happened recently anyway. But maybe he was just more stupid than he had thought.

Now he couldn't hear Tetch anymore. Either the blow had been powerful enough to make him pass out, or he had decided it would be better for him to just shut up. Crane grimaced as he heard once again a sound of ripping paper; Tetch's copy of  _Alice in Wonderland_  was most likely getting the same treatment his books had. He winced, still avoiding to look at what was left of his books.

There was the sound of steps, then the door of Tetch's cell was closed again. As Bolton's steps faded away, everything fell into Arkham's rare silence again – except for the sobs and whimpers that once again came from Jervis Tetch's cell.

* * *

"Wake up, you scum!"

Crane was roughly awakened by a smack on the side of the head. He yelped, knowing who it was even before he could open his eyes. He instinctively raised his hands to shield his head, and he had barely enough time to notice he was no longer handcuffed to the bedpost before Bolton grabbed the collar of his shirt and forced him to get up, placing the handcuffs in front of his eyes.

"I suggest you to get used to it – you and the ones like you are going to be chained down every night. Now you have thirty seconds to put on your uniform, get out of this door and get in your place in the row for breakfast. Not a single word about this," he shook the handcuffs in front of his eyes. "Or I'll make you regret the day you were born. Is everything perfectly clear to you?" he growled.

Crane swallowed and nodded, and Bolton let him go. He staggered back against the wall, his legs shaking as Bolton left of his cell. He heard the door of Tetch's cell opening, and he knew Jervis was getting his same treatment he had.

He took a deep breath, still trying to not look at what was left of his books, and immediately began to change in his uniform. He had quickly learned that disobeying to Bolton's orders would most likely have painful consequences. He wouldn't be surprised to find out he was really counting how many seconds it took him to get outside the door – he had done things like that before so he could have a reason to punish him.

As if he needed to make up a reason, Crane thought bitterly as he quickly took his place in the row slowly heading to the cafeteria, guards standing all around them. Thankfully Bolton was busy speaking with another guard, so he didn't glance in his direction. In his relief, Crane didn't notice Tetch was standing behind him until he spoke.

"He took my hat," he said flatly, causing Crane to wince. The Scarecrow turned to look at him: he didn't have his usual hat, obviously, and he looked like he hadn't slept for one single moment that night. There was a bruise on his cheekbone, most likely from when Bolton had hit him when he had tried to get his hat back.

"I know," Crane just said as the row began to move.

"And he ripped my book.  _Alice in Wonderland_ ," his eyes were oddly glazed, and he sounded like he couldn't believe it yet. "Alice…"

"He ripped my books too, but you don't see me moping around about it, " Jonathan said sharply, ignoring the awful feeling in his guts each time he thought about it. Insults, beatings, ripped books – it was like school all over again, only a thousand times worse.

"I hate him."

Tetch's sudden comment cause Crane to blink and turn to look at him. "What?" he asked, surprised. When Tetch referred to Bolton, he was always terrified – never angered, for he was far too scared of him to be angered. Truth to be told, none of them could get past the fear enough to truly feel anger – not even him, the Scarecrow!

The thought caused Crane to grimace as he looked at Jervis. He looked more furious than he had ever seen him – and it was a rare sight, really. But this time, Bolton had gone too far: by taking away his hat and destroying his copy of  _Alice in Wonderland,_  he had achieved a result he hadn't achieved with all his abuses, not even with the rape. He had pushed the Hatter past the line between plain terror and hatred.

"Yes, I  _hate_  him," Jervis repeated, a bit surprised by his own boldness, then he blinked. "Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked.

_Because you are the only one who can feel rage for this treatment instead of just terror. Because you are the only one whose rage overcame fear, while I am trapped in it, unable to feel anything else every time I think of Bolton. Because you just proved to have more guts than all of us. You proved to have more guts than me, the Scarecrow. Some master of fear I am._

"It's nothing," Jonathan said bitterly, turning away from him as they walked in the cafeteria. "Nothing important."

They stayed silent until they sat at the usual table, then Tetch was the first one to speak. "I can't wait to leave this place," he said quietly, causing Crane to shudder.

"Watch your tongue, you idiot – do you want to ruin everything?" he growled, glancing around to make sure nobody was close enough to hear them. "I told you – we'll be out of here soon, but until that moment  _keep your mouth shut_ , or I'm leaving you here. Did I make myself clear enough?"

Tetch swallowed and nodded, clearly terrified by the idea of being left behind.

"Hi, guys."

They both turned to see Harley sitting at the table. She was pale, and she looked nothing like her usual cheerful self – even her voice sounded somewhat hollow. When she sat and put her arms on the table, Crane could see the marks left by handcuffs on her wrist. In turn, she glanced at their faces.

"Looks like Bolton paid you a visit too, huh?" she said, absentmindedly playing with her food "I bet he took away your stuff and chained you."

"Looks like he paid a visit to each of his  _favorites_ ," Crane spat the last word as if it left a nasty taste in his mouth, then he turned to glance around. "Where is Arnold?" he asked. He hadn't seen the Ventriloquist yet, and that was odd – he usually sat at their same table.

"He's been sedated – I was told he had panic attack or something after Bolton took away Scarface. It's not like it surprises me, it's like he can exist without that puppet instead of the other way around. Anyway, Bolton was forced to give it back to avoid trouble, and I doubt he's glad about it."

"I didn't hear him," Crane said, confused. Wesker's cell was rather close to his, and he would have heard him if he had a panic attack.

Harley bit her lower lip and turned her gaze away. "He was in Bolton's office," she finally said, causing a heavy silence to fall on the table. Surprisingly enough, Tetch was the first one to speak – he was full of surprises that morning, Crane thought.

"But you told me he wouldn't strike again for a while," he said, tuning to Crane. "You said he would wait before…" he paused and swallowed.

Crane frowned. "He usually does," he said, a worried look on his face. It looked like Bolton was getting tired of waiting too much before striking again – and that couldn't be good. That meant he probably had less time than he thought before he would turn his attention to him again. He exchanged a quick glance with Tetch, and he knew they were thinking the same thing.

They had to get away as soon as they could.

* * *

**Five days later**

"Almost done," Crane said with a satisfied expression as he carefully poured the liquid inside an empty inhalator Tetch had managed to steal from the infirmary together with the medicines. He nodded, satisfied. "I just have to let it rest now – it will be ready for the use in a few hours…just in time to be used on the guard."

"How will you make him get in, Jonathan?"

Crane grinned. "I have a lamp that isn't connected with the main switch – one privilege Bolton forgot to destroy. I'll keep the light on after the due hour, and the guard will surely notice."

"He could just order you to turn it off from outside."

"Oh, he won't – these guards just love to show us they have complete control over us. I'm sure he'll get in to threaten me, and I'll use some toxin on him. After I take the keys and open your cell, we have to start running. I'll use the toxin on every guard we may meet – once outside, we'll split up. Did you understand everything I said?"

There was a long silence. "Do we have…to do it today?" Tetch finally asked, clearly terrified.

"Today is Bolton's day off – it's the only day we can stand a chance of escaping until next week...and I'm not going to wait until then knowing he could strike in any moment. Besides, they could check the medicines and find out some are missing… it rarely happens, but we can't take the risk. Not to mention that this toxin is very rudimentary – it won't be effective in a few days. We have to try tonight."

"How will I know when it's the moment?"

"It won't be difficult to understand, you'll hear a guard screaming in terror over here just before I open your cell," Crane laughed a bit maniacally. "Nobody will realize what happened until it's too late – they'll think it's some inmate screaming. Too bad I cannot stay to taste their fear…"

Tetch took a deep breath. "I understand," he said, then he turned up to stare at the ceiling. "What are you going to do when we're out of here?"

Crane just shrugged. "I have no idea," he said. He definitely wasn't going to get back to crime for a while – he wasn't going to take the risk of being caught and sent back in Arkham as long as Bolton was there. For now, his priority was to just get as far as he could from him and hide. "What about you?"

"I'm going to have a tea party," the Hatter said immediately, causing Crane to chuckle. He should have expected him to say something like that – he wasn't allowed to drink tea or anything with caffeine in there, and he often whined about how much better a good cup of tea would make him feel.

"I should have guessed," Crane finally said. There was a brief silence before Tetch spoke again.

"You know…we could bring Harley with us," he said tentatively.

On the other side of the wall Crane just frowned, his gaze still fixed on the inhalator filled with toxin. "We cannot do that – her cell is too far from here. We would lose too much time, and we would have to face too many guards."

"But we have your toxin…"

"We don't have much of it, and it's not very powerful – it would keep the guards out of the way just for ten, maybe fifteen minutes. We're going to have to be as quick as possible."

"Oh," Tetch bit his lower lip. "I don't want to leave her here," he suddenly said, sounding like a stubborn child that refuses to leave without a toy.

Crane snorted. "If you want to stay and play the knight in the shining armour, feel free to do so – but you'll have to do it alone, because I'd leave you behind," he paused. "It's because she resembles your secretary, right? She reminds you of Alice."

No answer came from the other cell, and Crane knew he was right. He carefully put the inhalator down and turned to the hole in the wall. "Listen here and listen close, Jervis," he said slowly. "I don't like the idea of leaving her in Bolton's hands any more than you do. I don't like the idea of leaving  _Wesker_  here either, and God knows how much I loathe that second personality of his. But if we stop just for a moment to help any of them, we'll be caught – do you have the  _slightest_  idea of what Bolton would do to us then?"

He heard Tetch swallowing. "I do," he said, his voice awfully weak.

"Good – keep that thought in mind, and  _fear_  it. It will help you to run faster."

Tetch swallowed again. "We could try to help them when we're out… you know, if anything happens to Bolton, they would be safe…"

Crane shrugged. "Again, if you want to do something, I'm not going to protest – but you're not going to drag me into anything that could result with me getting back in this hellhole, and anywhere near Bolton."

"I don't mean we should do anything personally, we just…well…" he hesitated. "Do you remember when we talked about what the Joker could do should he know what Bolton did to Harley?"

Crane blinked, then he grinned. "He would be furious because Bolton dared to touch his…possession. He would go to any lengths to make him pay." His grin widened. "You have a point, Jervis. As much as Bolton is like a god in this hell, he's nothing but a mortal outside."

"He could have a weapon," Tetch pointed out, but he was clearly cheered up by the idea of Bolton getting what he deserved.

"That's likely – the ones like him always have a weapon with them… but this never stopped the Joker," he said, delighted by the thought. They could let the Joker know what Bolton had done to his girlfriend once they were outside – it would be like signing Bolton's death warrant, and he couldn't wait to do it. It would be perfect: a painful death for Bolton, and no need for him to get anywhere near that animal again.

The fact he was too scared of Bolton to get revenge by himself even though he liked being referred as the Master of Fear was somewhat humiliating, but he ignored it.

"So…we're going to tell the Joker what happened, aren't we?" Tetch asked hopefully.

Crane grimaced. "For the last time, Jervis, once we're out of here, there will be no 'we' or 'us'. Do whatever you please. It will be none of my business," he said, and grabbed the brick to put it back in place. "Now shut up, I've had enough of your chattering. Remember the plan and don't mess up."

* * *

But of course, Jervis  _did_ mess up. And he messed up in such a stupid way that Crane wouldn't have believed it hadn't he witnessed what had happened with his own eyes. It was a dark, stormy night – the most cliché of nights, indeed – and the pouring rain was making the ground slippery made it more difficult to run in the dark. Tetch had clumsily stumbled on the slippery muddy ground while running, breaking his ankle when they were barely outside Arkham's gate, and now he couldn't walk.

It was such a cliché that, had it happened to anyone else and under any other circumstance, Crane would have found it incredibly funny other than pathetic – but right now he didn't find it funny  _at all_.

"Jervis –  _let me go_!" he growled again, trying to break free from Tetch's grasp, cursing himself for being stupid enough to instinctively stop running as he saw the Hatter falling on the ground. That brief hesitation had been enough for the terrified man to grab his ankle.

Tetch's grasp just tightened at Crane's words. "Don't leave me here!" he begged, his eyes filled with so much terror that Crane couldn't help but briefly think he would have been made a great subject for his experiments on fear. He tried to break free again, but it was useless – even though Tetch wasn't really strong, he was still much stronger than he was.

"I don't want him to get me," Tetch whined, sobbing both for the pain and the terror. "Help me!"

"Tetch, I can't help you – I can't drag you away, we wouldn't get far!" he said, starting to panic – it was just a matter of moments before the toxin's effect finished and some guard gave the alarm, and then all of Gotham's police would be after him... not to mention Batman, of course. "If you don't let me go now they'll get us both –  _he'll_  get us both, and we'll never have another chance!"

Crane cringed as the siren began to howl – the alarm had been given. They would be out looking for them in no time, and if they caught him… he swallowed and tried again. "Jervis, if they get me as well we're not going to escape again – let me go, and I'll make you break out! I promise I will," he lied, trying to sound reasonable rather than terrified and praying he would believe him. "If you don't let me go now, there won't be a chance for any of us!"

It was a lie, of course – he was not going to risk being caught again to get him or anyone else out: the thought of having to face Bolton again was enough to terrify him… but he hoped Tetch would believe him despite what he had told him a few hours back; he could be naïve enough to believe what nobody else would.

Much to his relief, Tetch's grip around his ankle slackened just a little – it was clear he wanted to believe him. If the Scarecrow managed to escape he still had a chance, however slim, to get some help. Besides, he seemed to understand that there was nothing Crane could do for him now. "Don't forget us," he pleaded, and for a moment Crane almost felt guilty for leaving him and the others there.

Almost.

"I won't," he said, a wonderful sense of relief taking over his mind as Tetch finally let him go, letting his hand fall on the mud. Crane took a step backwards and hesitated just for a moment before turning and running away as fast as he could, leaving the Mad Hatter behind and trying to not think of what was going to happen to the poor fellow as soon as he had to face Bolton again.


	4. Caught

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of this chapter was lifted directly from the episode Lock Up, since part of this chapter and a part of the next one are supposed to happen during said episode. Also, if you're sensitive or especially bothered by rape in fiction, you might prefer to not read the last part. It's not really descriptive at all, but what happens is pretty clear and it's not nice.

 

Jonathan Crane was definitely no athlete; a single look at his skinny frame would be enough for anyone to understand that. Nor he ever fancied to become one; exercise was something he had always despised, even as a boy. It was tiring and humiliating, with the whole class laughing at his clumsy attempts to do what took almost no effort from the others.

He preferred being left alone with his books, and eventually even the teacher had given up on trying to get him interested in any sport: it clearly wasn't his thing. But one thing was undeniable – he could _run_ , and he was fast. Should anyone see him now, while running as far as he could from Arkham, they would have thought he was training for the next Olympic games.

Fear can really do wonders, Crane thought confusedly as he finally stopped in an alley, panting, his heart thundering in his chest. He had to find some place to hide, and quickly: with Batman and Robin roaming in he city, staying outside wasn't safe. Not to mention that the police would be after him in no time as well, he mused as he looked around – but where could he…?

His gaze finally fell on the manhole that led to the sewers. He wrinkled his nose in disgust and hesitated for a few instants – he couldn't say he liked the idea of getting in that filthy place – but he knew all too well he had very little choice. He had to avoid being caught at all costs, and the sewer was probably the safest place to spend the night; he would move to get to his silos in the countryside Gotham the following day or the day after that, he decided.

How ironic that walking in broad daylight would be safer than trying to do so at night, he thought as he climbed down, forbidding himself to even _think_ about the possibility he could be caught and sent back to Arkham. No, it couldn't happen, not as long as Bolton was there! He wouldn't get back there, no matter the cost. They wouldn't get him this time, or at least not alive: whatever hell could be waiting for him after death, he was certain it would be nothing compared with the hell his life would become if he were sent back in Bolton's hands.

Crane absentmindedly rubbed his arms, trying to keep himself a little warmer despite the dampness, struggling to ignore the stench. That inmate uniform he was wearing had to go, of course – it would make it all too easy for him to be spotted if he just walked around with the uniform on. He would get rid of it as soon as he could find anything else he could wear and-

"Hey, is that ya, scrawny?"

Crane winced – or, better yet, he nearly jumped out of his skin – as a gruff, raspy voice called out from him. He turned abruptly, his heart pounding, then he relaxed a little as he saw the massive figure standing behind him, perfectly recognizable despite the trench coat and hat he was wearing. "Mr. Jones," he greeted him, trying to sound perfectly calm and hoping he hadn't noticed his moment of blind panic. "I hadn't thought I could find you here."

Killer Croc gave a rumbling laugh. "Where'd ya think ya'd find me, scrawny? In Buckingham Palace?" he asked before glancing at the clothes he was wearing. On the run, ain't ya? Hope ya didn't bring the Bat here."

"Yes, I just escaped. And no, no one knows I'm here," Crane replied, fervently hoping he wasn't wrong. "It's been quite a while since last time we heard of you," he added. For a moment he actually found himself wondering what could be happening to the ones still in Arkham in that very same moment, and what in the world could be happening to Tetch, but he was quick to chase away the thought.

"I decided to stay away from the big game for a while," Killer Croc scratched a scaly cheek before he blinked, as if suddenly reminded of something. "And what the heck, none of us outside heard from ya guys in months! First one to escape in a while, aint'ya? Did it get harder to leave that hellhole?"

"You cannot even imagine," Crane muttered, his face twisting in a bitter grimace. "You might want to keep yourself well away from that place as long as you can," he added. He _strongly_ doubted Bolton would get too far with Killer Croc – that devil wasn't so stupid – but he would certainly make sure to make his stay even less pleasant than it would usually be… and he would make sure he never escaped, because no one escaped under Bolton's charge.

No one except the Scarecrow. The thought almost made him smirk.

"Ah," Killer Croc said. "Don't tell me the food got even worse, 'cause it's impossible," he said… and coming from him, that meant _a lot_. He had never had complicated tastes when it came to food, and most of the other rogues would claim he had no taste _at all_ , but not even he could ever like whatever they made pass off as food.

"No, it's always just as dreadful. We have… a new chief of security."

Killer Croc scoffed. "Is that all? Ya got me worried for a moment. Just another guy I could snap like a chopstick if I just-"

"No, he's not 'just another guy'," Crane snapped. The thought anyone could so easily dismiss the man who could make him shake with terror sounded like an insult to him. But then again, what could someone like Killer Croc _know_ of what it meant being unable to do anything against someone who could control your life, take away anything from you just because he felt like it and dispose of you the way he thought fitting? He just couldn't, and he certainly wasn't going to let anyone know of… of what really happened in there. "His place really is Arkham, yes, but as an _inmate_. For once in your life, Jones, do something sensible and be careful to not get back in there. The fact I'm the first one to escape in months should be enough of a hint of how bad the situation is."

For a moment Killer Croc seemed about to retort, then he paused with a slightly confused frown as he realized Scarecrow was being deadly serious. Finally, he shrugged. "Whatever, I'll be careful. Thanks for the tip, scrawny," he glanced at his uniform. "Don't have anything else to wear? Ya'll be easy to spot that way."

"I'm afraid I forgot to take a suitcase with me when I ran away from the asylum," Scarecrow said dryly. "And yes, I know. I'll try to find something el- what…!" he protested as something heavy and not exactly fragrant was suddenly thrown on him. He pushed it off his head and realized it was Killer Croc's coat.

"Take this on then. Ya'll look like a kid wearing dad's clothes, but better than nothing," he said, apparently unaware of the cold even though he was only wearing some old trousers. Then again, maybe his scaly, thick skin was enough to protect him from that nuisance.

Crane wrinkled his nose in disgust and for a moment he was about to refuse, then he caught himself and just put the coat on, muttering a quick 'thank you' – he was right, he had to keep the uniform hidden if he wanted to have a chance to pass unnoticed.

Killer Crock snickered as he watched Scarecrow trying to roll up the sleeves to he could use his hands. "Ya look funny, ya know," he said with a snicker.

Look who's talking, Crane thought, but he wisely decided to keep his mouth shut – Killer Croc could snap him like a toothpick if he wanted to, and he wasn't stupid enough to take a such risks… not without his fear toxin, at least. Good thing he still had some tanks of the chemicals he needed to make the fear toxin in the silos: he didn't like the idea of being completely defenceless _at all_.

"I'm not sure this will make me pass _unnoticed_ ," Crane finally grumbled, glancing down to see the coat brushing on the damp ground. He had to look ridiculous, he thought in utter annoyance – and just what fear could he inspire like that?

"Hey, it's all I've got, ya know," Killer Croc snorted, a grin still on his ugly snout. "Where are ya going?"

"I have a hideout out of town. I'll stay there for a while, and then…" Crane found himself unable to think of anything – he certainly wasn't going to get back to crime, not as long as Bolton was the chief of security of the Arkham Asylum. "I'll see."

"Outta Gotham, eh? Which way?"

Crane gave him a suspicious glance. "Why do you ask?"

"Do ya want to be spotted?" Killer Croc replied. "Really, ya ain't going nowhere looking like that, scrawny."

"And how would telling you where I'm heading change that?"

"Hey, sewers have to get _somewhere_ , ya know," Killer Croc snorted. "And some of the tunnels here can get ya outta town."

Crane blinked – it was a possibility he hadn't thought of, but it did make sense. "Are you telling me I could get out of town without having to get to surface?" he asked.

"Yeah, but ya gotta tell me what direction ya gotta take, or I can't tell ya the way."

Scarecrow hesitated. He knew it was by far the most sensible solution, but he still was suspicious of the other man – even though he had some trouble thinking of him as a man. _Why_ should he help him just like that, without asking for anything in return? They had barely even spoken to each other, and he had no reason to help him out. Scarecrow knew _he_ wouldn't do anything like that for any other rogue unless he had to, just like he had let Tetch try to break out with him only because he didn't want him to take revenge by giving the alarms.

Killer Croc gave an impatient snort at the doubtful expression on Crane's face. "I ain't gonna tell anyone, scrawny, so just spit it out. It's not like ya gotta tell me where ya'll go after getting out of town anyway."

Well, it was still less of a risk than walking in broad daylight wearing a coat ten times his size over his inmate uniform, Crane finally thought. "North-east," he finally said.

"That way then," Killer Croc turned to point at some tunnel on their left. "Straight on, ya can't go wrong. A couple of hours and ya'll be walking on daisies."

"Crops most likely," Crane muttered under his breath before he cleared his throat. "In that case, I better get going," he added. It was almost down, and the silos wasn't that close to town. He knew there would be a lot more walking after he was out of the sewers; he wanted to be there by nightfall.

Killer Croc shrugged. "Yeah, sure. If they get ya, ya didn't see me, okay?"

Crane had to repress a shudder at the though of being possibly caught. "No, obviously I won't," he said. "And you didn't see me," he added, glaring at his retreating back.

Killer Croc didn't even turn back – he just made an affirmative gesture with his huge hand. "Seen who?"

Well, Scarecrow thought with a sigh, he could only hope he was telling the truth. Then again, why should he hand him over? He had no reason to, he thought, wrapping the coat a little more tightly around himself before he began walking down the dark tunnel, wondering if he still had his usual costume in the silos. For the briefest moment he considered looking for the Joker to tell him what had Bolton done to Harley so he would carry on his revenge on Bolton on their behalf, but he decided against it: as much as he would have loved to make Bolton pay, the danger of being caught in the attempt was too high. He would just stay hidden for now.

* * *

Jervis Tetch knew he had been drugged since the first moment he opened his eyes… or better yet, tried to: each lid seemed to weight a ton, and he eventually just gave up and kept them closed. For a moment he was relieved by the fact he felt no pain in his ankle or anywhere else – he had expect the pain in his undoubtedly broken ankle to be excruciating, and he was relieved that it wasn't there. His foggy mind tried to stir something else, some thought about how he had no reason to be relieved, but he simply couldn't focus enough to remember what else was awaiting for him once he returned to consciousness.

And for some reason, he thought it was better this way.

He gave a small sigh and fell back into blissful sleep, dreaming of the look on joy on his Alice's face once he could convince her to follow her to Wonderland, unaware of the massive figure glaring death at him from the door of the infirmary.

Massive fists clenched and nearly shaking with suppressed anger, Bolton kept his eyes fixed on Tetch as he kept sleeping, only stirring slightly. That… that _scum_ had really thought he could escape from Arkham under his charge, hadn't he? Oh, but he had grossly miscalculated and he would pay for that mistake, and he would pay _dearly_. Once he was done with him, his broken ankle would be the last of his problems. He'd-

"Is there anything you need, Mr. Bolton?"

Bolton winced before he took control over himself again and forced himself to smile at the nurse sitting at a desk next to Tetch's bed, her presence being the only thing that forced him to hold back from giving him what he deserved right away. "I just wanted to check everything was fine. He's not giving you any trouble, is he?"

The nurse shook her head. "No, not at all. He's hardly a threat right now – he'll keep sleeping until tomorrow at least."

"I see," Bolton gave him another glance, gritting his teeth. "In any case, don't hesitate to call me should there be any trouble," he added before turning to walk back in his office. After all, he thought, trying to calm down, there was no reason to rush: Tetch wasn't going anywhere, and he wouldn't be in infirmary forever. No, Tetch's attempted escape wasn't what really bothered him – it was Crane's successful one that made his blood boil.

Nobody had yet escaped under his charge – _nobody_ , and that miserable runt had dared to break out, to _ridicule_ him by escaping! But he would pay, and he would pay dearly. One he was back in his hands, which would be _soon_ , he would make him regret the day his mother brought him screaming to the world. Everything he had been through while in his hands until that moment would seem like a walk in the part in comparison.

Bolton was snapped from his enraged thoughts by a stinging pain in his hands. He glanced down to see he had balled his fists so tightly that his nails had sunk in the flesh of his palms, breaking the skin and making him bleed. He drew in a deep breath, trying to calm down and to recollect his thoughts.

Losing control like that would only work against him, he told himself – he could end up getting too much attention on himself. He had to hold back, to behave as if he wasn't _too_ bothered until he had Crane back in his grasp, and _then_ -

He hesitated for a moment. As much as he wished to make him suffer just as he deserved, he knew he was going to have to be careful. He couldn't _kill_ him, that was a given – nor he had any intention to, since it would only end his hell – but he couldn't hurt him too badly either: nothing more than the usual bruises anyway, or else someone could start asking questions. On the other hand, he thought with a smirk, that wasn't going to be too much of a problem.

There are less visible and more effective ways to break a man after all.

* * *

It was starting to get dark when Scarecrow staggered inside the silos he used as an occasional hideout. He leaned against the door as he closed it, his legs shaking for the effort: he had walked from before dawn until now, and he was exhausted. Still he hadn't even stopped once to rest, he hadn't stopped a moment to eat or drink anything: all he wanted was putting as much distance as he could between himself and Bolton. And he had made it – no one knew of that hideout, no one would find him there.

I'm safe, Crane thought, finally getting off the oversized coat Killer Croc had given him and throwing it aside. All his muscles were screaming for mercy, but he still forced himself to walk to the next room to take a heap of clothes – his trademark costume.

He couldn't tell exactly why he felt compelled to wear it – he wasn't going back to crime, not as long as Bolton was in Arkham – but he couldn't stand wearing that uniform anymore, and for some reason the thought of changing in his usual attire felt oddly comforting. He would be once again someone people should be _scared_ of rather then some frightened, pathetic man who couldn't pack a punch to save his life, Crane thought bitterly as he changed in his Scarecrow clothes. And indeed as soon as he put on the mask he felt infinitely better, as he supposed anyone would feel getting back home after a long journey. Jonathan Crane could be weak, but as the Scarecrow he could control something who made the strongest men as weak as kittens – fear.

_I'm the master of fear. I control fear, even my own, and nothing scares me. Not even Bolton._

It was a blatant lie that he was trying to feed himself, but he could almost make himself believe it. For a brief moment it made him feel better than he had felt in months, since when Bolton had became the new chief of security, since when Arkham had turned into hell…

"Whoa, and you got all the way here just to put on your mask? You could have asked for a new one back in Arkham," a too-well known voice spoke from behind him, causing Crane's blood to freeze in his veins, all the relief he had felt vanishing and making his knees awfully weak.

Robin.

_God, no. Please, please, no…!_

He gave a strangled cry and tried to run outside without even turning to look at the boy, his mind a blur – all he knew was that he had to get away, no matter what. He wouldn't be brought back in Bolton's hands! He _couldn't_! He rushed to the door and opened it to run away, but he let out a yelp as he bumped onto someone's massive frame. He had no time to try to back away before a large hand gripped his wrist in an iron grip. Scarecrow frantically tried to break free, but he was simply no match for Batman.

"NO!" he screamed. "No, let me go! Please, let me go!" he nearly begged, still trying with all his might to break free. "I can't go back there!"

"It's not like you have a choice in the matter," Batman said quietly, still holding his wrist. "Now just come with us, and we won't even need to give you any bruise."

"See? Installing cameras in all hideouts we find out about paid off," Crane faintly heard Robin saying from the other side of the room. "They always come back at some point…"

"No! No, you can't bring me back there! You can't…!" Crane was babbling incoherently now, his eyes darting back and forth in the room, looking for something, _anything_ that could help him escaping… but he could see nothing. The chemicals to make the fear toxin were in another room, and there was simply nothing he could do against Batman without his toxin. Finally, his gaze finally fell on an old, rusty knife on a nearby table, and despair made him act without even thinking.

His free hand reached for the knife; blurred as his mind was, he didn't even know if he was planning to use it on Batman or on himself, for he would die rather than having to get back to Arkham and find out what Bolton had in store for him. Either way, he got no chance to use it: something hit the back of his head, and for a brief moment before everything went dark only one thought filled his mind – he wouldn't have to die to find himself in hell.

* * *

He had no idea of how long he had been unconscious, but it hadn't to be much, for when a rough jolt caused him to wake up it was still dark. He blinked a few times before glancing around, and horror caused his throat to tighten as he realized they were dragging up the flight of stairs that led inside Arkham. His whole body immediately began to shake at the realization that now it was really over. Bolton would kill him, and if he didn't he would make him wish he _would_.

"Hey, looks like he woke up," Robin commented.

Crane whimpered. "Don't bring me back there, please!" he begged before he managed to break free from Batman and Robin's still slackened grip. He turned to them, reaching for the front of Batman's costume. "Look at me, Batman! I'm shaking with fear – me, the Scarecrow! I wasn't even going back to crime this time!" he tried to convince them, but they just grabbed him again and resumed dragging him upstairs. "I just had to get away from…" his voiced failed him for a few instants as he saw something he had hoped with all his blackened soul he wouldn't ever see again – Bolton standing above him, barely more than a shadow against the light coming from the doorframe. "… Him!" he gasped before he let out a whimper, shaking even harder than before as Bolton began approaching.

"I'll take him from here, Batman. Lyle Bolton, chief of security," he introduced himself before turning his gaze on Scarecrow. "Congratulations, professor Crane. You're the first inmate to escape Arkham under my charge," he said, and suddenly reached for him. The Scarecrow let out another whimper, still shaking as he grabbed him from the front of his shirt and lifted him from the ground. "You're also the last," he added in a threatening drawl before turning back to Batman and Robin.

"I won't let you and the people of Gotham City down again, Batman," he said, then he turned to Crane one again and smiled – a sick smile that was more than enough to tell Scarecrow his fate would be far worse than death. His body stopped shaking and suddenly went numb, and he found himself unable to react in any way as Bolton dragged him upstairs and shut the heavy door behind them, the sound echoing almost painfully in Crane's ears.

The echo hadn't even faded as the punch came, so quickly that Crane didn't see it coming – he could only feel it as it hit his stomach, causing him to double over in pain, feeling as if all the air had been blown out of his lungs. He struggled to catch his breath, and he emitted a strangled cry as Bolton ripped the mask off his head and grabbed his hair viciously, forcing him to tilt his head backwards.

"Don't scream. It's better for you if you keep quiet," he snarled, and Crane gritted his teeth to hold back a yelp as his grip on his hair tightened even more. "So, you thought you could just escape, didn't you? You thought you could make me look like a fool and get away with it, uh?"

"Please…" Crane begged, but he was cut off by a violent smack across his face that caused his upper lip to break, flooding his mouth with his own blood. The taste of blood made him panic completely and he squirmed and kicked, desperately trying to get away from Bolton, who just gave a rumbling laughter at his desperate attempts.

"What do you think you're _doing_?" he asked, still mildly amused before he began dragging him down the hallway, and it was with growing horror that Crane realized he was dragging him into his office.

_No!_

He opened his mouth to scream, but he could barely emit a sound before Bolton's grip on his neck tightened and he just lifted him from the ground again, cutting off his air. "I wouldn't even try to scream if I were you," he growled, opening the door of his office and walking inside before slamming the door closed behind them again. "Will you keep quiet, you scum?"

Scarecrow struggled to breathe, his hands reaching to grasp Bolton's in a feeble attempt at getting it off his throat, the lack of oxygen making his whole chest burn.

" _Will you_?" came Bolton's snarl.

_Yes, yes, I will, I swear I will, oh God I will I will please just let me BREATHE!_

Gathering all his strength, Crane could barely manage to nod slightly, but it seemed to satisfy Bolton, who finally dropped him. Crane hit the cold floor, but he was so busy gasping for breath that he didn't even feel the stinging pain in his elbow. He _did_ , however, feel the vicious kick in his back that would have made him cry out in agony if only he wasn't so out of breath… and he was almost thankful for that, because he couldn't even imagine Bolton's fury should he disobey his order and really scream.

He tried to get up, but another kick sent him back on the ground, face to the floor. Before he could move again he felt Bolton's weight on him, pinning him down, and he knew what he was about to do. "No!" he half-sobbed, half-pleaded as he tried to get up, but Bolton kept him pinned down with ease with just one hand while his other hand grabbed his worn clothes. "Stop!"

"Plead as much as you wish, Crane – how many of your victims pleaded _you_ to stop?" Bolton sneered, but Crane didn't even hear him: all he heard was the other's man heavy breathing, and then a loud ripping sound a moment before the cold air of the office assaulted his bared skin, causing him to shudder. He made one last, feeble attempt at getting Bolton off himself, but he was so much bigger and stronger, and as Bolton pressed his face back against the floor he couldn't move anymore. All he could do was lie still and wait for the pain that was sure to come – it _always_ was painful, let alone when no lubrication was involved, and he knew Bolton would make _sure_ to hurt him out of spite, as a punishment for trying to escape and oh God why, why had he even tried, _why_ -

And then there was the searing pain, tearing him apart, so much stronger than he had anticipated that he actually screamed against the floor, unable to hold back as Bolton kept going without even acknowledging his reaction. His whole body tensed at the intrusion, making the ordeal even more painful, to the point he was sure that this time it would kill him, that he would die, because there was no way one could experience a such pain and stay alive, no way, he couldn't survive this and now he almost _hoped_ he wouldn't, it was just _too much_.

_Oh God let it end, let it end…!_

And for one time's sake his plea was listened and everything went blissfully black.


	5. The Hearing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter I had already written and just needed to fix up. There were going to be one or two more after this one, but I never wrote them. I plan on doing so as soon as I've got some other WIPs out of the way.
> 
> There is one scene in the chapter that takes place right during the Lock-Up episode and covers the hearing scene, so a large part of the dialogue for that scene is lifted directly from the episode. I didn't have much choice there. Same goes for Crane's line in the last scene, which happens right at the end of the episode.

Even though consciousness tried to creep back in his clouded mind at the first lights of dawn – he _supposed_ it was dawn, but his eyes were tightly shut so he couldn't truly see the cold grey light coming from the hole in the wall of his cell someone might have the audacity to call a window – Jonathan Crane refused to allow himself to awaken, trying with all his might to stay in that blissful middle ground between sleep and awareness. As long as he stayed like that, half-asleep and unmoving, he could pretend he wasn't truly back in Arkham. And, most of all, he didn't feel the pain that was sure to shot through him the moment he tried to move.

But of course that blasted asylum couldn't just let things go his way at least for once, and he was eventually dragged to full awareness by the usual morning sounds – cells opening, handcuffs tingling, guards and prisoners yelling and talking, and eventually his own cell's door opening.

That last sound in particular not only fully awakened him, but it also filled him with terror: it was Bolton that opened the cells in the morning, and he expected them to be up and ready to get out immediately and he would be furious if he didn't-

Crane let out a strangled cry and tried to jump on his feet before Bolton could get in, but he felt weak and his _everything_ hurt, and he crumpled back on the floor with a whimper, eyes tightly shut as he waited for Bolton to grab him by the neck and force him back to his feet, or throw him outside, or…

"Professor Crane?"

Crane's eyes snapped open at the familiar and definitive feminine voice that couldn't be farther from Bolton's usual growls. He looked up to see someone he hadn't seen in a few months – how long as she been away for her research purposes again? "Dr. Leland?" he rasped, his throat still hurting from the screams that had left him the previous night. He didn't try to get up again.

The woman was frowning as she stepped in ignoring pretty much all safety rules to crouch next to him. Crane hissed as she gently titled his head back to take a closer look at the bruise on his cheekbone, at the dried blood around his split lip and then to his crumpled form.

"Bolton told me you were not hurt in the capture," she said with barely concealed anger "you should be in the infirmary."

The relief that had filled him seemed to vanish at the thought of Bolton's anger should he think he had actually complained about him to Dr. Leland. "N… no, I shouldn't," he blabbered "I'm fine. I… I fell from the cot tonight," he tried to lie, fully knowing he wouldn't be able to fool her for an instant.

"Professor Crane, you need to go to the infirmary now. I'll call-"

"NO!" Crane almost shrieked, reaching to grab her coat "please, don't call anyone! If… if _he_ …!"

"Lyle Bolton won't know it," Dr. Leland said, causing Crane's mouth to abruptly snap shout – how could she _guess_ ….? "He isn't here, and won't be here again until after the hearing – given that it's seen fit that he keeps his current position."

Crane found himself staring at her numbly for a few moments. "Not here? Hearing?" he echoed her words in confusion.

Dr. Leland nodded. "I received a call from Dr. Bartholomew the moment I stepped back in Gotham this morning – Bruce Wayne advanced some doubts over Mr. Bolton's competence in fulfilling his role, and I was told to ask you if you have any complaints on him. I take it you _do_ ," her gaze darkened a little "and you're not the only one."

Crane stared at her in disbelief. Could it really be that they would finally be ridded of Bolton? And… what had the other inmates _told_ her? The idea they could have told her everything Bolton had done to them filled with humiliation. "Who… was it to complain? What did they say?"

"Not much of anything," she admitted "but I think their reactions were eloquent enough. Miss Quinn started screaming when I asked. Mr. Wesker curled in a corner while his dummy kept screaming for me to stop asking questions that would get them, and I quote, 'even deeper in the shit pit'. And now there's you – you need medical help, and even though he didn't brother to provide you that much you're still trying to cover for him. As for Mr. Tetch, he just… shuddered and began talking of Wonderland. I think he was trying to distance himself from the subject at hand, either to protect himself or avoid my questions – or both," she sighed "you'll see him soon. I'll have you brought to the infirmary as well right away."

Crane could only nod numbly, unable to form a coherent reply and barely able to hope that the nightmare called Lyle Bolton could really be over. There was one thing he still knew for sure, and only one – that there were things Bolton had done to him, to _them_ , that he and the others were going to take with them to the grave.

* * *

"But how could they _know_ …?"

"For the last time, Tetch, I have no idea," Crane snapped irritably from his bed before casting a nervous glance to the guards standing by the entrance, then he lowered his voice. "I suppose they don't quite know the details. They only know something must be wrong. Perhaps…" he paused "I don't know how they could guess, but I suppose it's beside the point. What matters is that now we might have a chance to get rid of Bolton."

"So will you say everything at the hearing?"

Crane shifted uncomfortably. "Not everything, no," he said quietly. There were things Bolton had done to him that he would never breathe to a soul, and he was certain none of the others would either; even minutes earlier, as they treated his scratches and bruises, he hadn't told them of any other… wound that would need to be tended and that he knew he was going to let heal on its own. They would never have to know that: after all, everything _else_ Bolton had done to him and the other inmates would be enough to have him fired once everyone knew about it. "And they will _never_ know everything," he added somewhat threateningly, but Tetch only sighed.

"Don't look at me. I won't be at the hearing. My ankle needs surgery, and it's schedule just the previous day," he said, glancing down at his injured ankle with a slight frown, then he chuckled "but my, isn't it wonderful that he isn't here anymore? I was so afraid he'd…" he paused "you know, for trying to escape."

Crane clenched his jaw, forcing himself not to think of his own punishment for his escape, the price he had to pay for such a short-lived freedom. Still, the thought was enough to sour whatever hopes he might have had until a few moments before.

"But there's no need to be scared anymore," Tetch was going on "we should have a tea party!"

"I see no reason to party yet," Crane said dryly "Bolton hasn't been fired yet."

The Mad Hatter's delighted chuckle immediately died down, and he looked at Crane with almost child-like confusion. "But, the hearing…!"

"Maybe they'll remove him from his place, maybe not. I can't quite picture the Mayor coming to save us upon a white steed like he would with good, tax-paying, non-criminally insane citizens," Crane said darkly "and if they don't, the hearing will have only served one purpose."

Tetch blinked. "And that would be…?"

Jonathan Crane gave a hollow laugh. "Infuriating Bolton even further. I cannot even begin to imagine his anger upon knowing of this hearing. I don't know what's the reason of it, but…" he had to pause and swallow before going on "if he thinks _we_ are the cause, and he isn't fired…" his voice finally broke, and he shuddered. "We're not safe yet, Tetch. We have to take a gamble before. And we might lose it."

Tetch stared at him with wide eyes for a few moments, the realization clearly taking some time to sink in, then he shook his head almost frantically. "No no no no _no_ , he won't, he won't!" he almost chanted "he has to go away, he has to go away! Off with his head! _Off with his head_!"

A chuckle escaped Crane – as much as he loathed thinking of the possibility things could once again go wrong for him, Tetch's panic at his words felt almost soothing. "This isn't Wonderland, Tetch. Things don't go the way you want them to. And if Bolton isn't fired after the hearing…"

"He has to be!" the Mad Hatter whimpered, and it didn't take much to guess what he was thinking – if Bolton wasn't fired, he would make him pay for both the attempted escape and the hearing, and it wouldn't be something he'd ever forget. "We… you guys must tell them what he did to us! You must! Not…" he seemed to hesitate "not everything he did, maybe, but only half of the things he did would be enough…!"

"It's easy to say for you – you won't be there," Crane shot back "and if despite our efforts he isn't fired, then he will-"

"But he'll blame us anyway!" Tetch cut him off, a note of despair in his voice "you know he will! No matter what we do, he'll never believe it wasn't _us_ to rat him out! Trying to get him fired is the only chance to… to avoid…" his voice faded and he finally fell silent.

Crane stayed silent as well for a few moments, mulling over what he had just heard. That was true – Bolton would blame them and make them pay, no matter what they did or said at the hearing or before that; granted, the punishment would be far worse if they tried and failed to have him fired… but if they didn't try, then there would be no way out, and they might never get another chance.

"Fine," Crane finally said, hating it how his voice was shaking "I'm going to speak to Quinn and Wesker at the first chance I get, and… we'll decide what to say at the hearing," he heard himself saying, faintly wondering if they'd find the courage to accuse Bolton in his presence.

_They'll have to. You'll have to. This is your only chance._

Crane tried to picture himself accusing Bolton in front of the man himself, but he felt dizzy and nauseous and he began shaking almost right away, so he was quick to push the thought on the back of his mind once more.

If Tetch had noticed his reaction, he pretended he hadn't.

* * *

Predictably enough, both Harley and Wesker – and, well, Scarface – had agreed to leave some… parts of Bolton's abuse unsaid: Harley was too scared her 'pudding' wouldn't want her anymore if he knew, Wesker and Crane himself were simply unwilling to have it known by anyone else, and Scarface… well, for once he hadn't said a word and left the decision to Wesker. Not surprising since the puppet itself had certainly been spared _that_ kind of abuse, or so Crane hoped.

Another thing that had been easy enough to predict was that the chance of getting Bolton fired and unable to even approach them again had worked wonders in convincing all of them to testify against him at the hearing. After all, Scarface had reasoned, there would sure be someone ready to get in the way should Bolton lose it and try to attack them.

Still, there was yet another thing that Crane should have predicted, something he had feared would happen – when it came the moment for them to testify and they were led inside the room, their resolve began to waver under Bolton's piercing gaze. This is useless, his eyes seemed to tell them. You're powerless, no one will help you, nothing will change, and you'll pay for this hassle. You'll pay dearly.

Crane tore his gaze away from that man with a sharp intake of breath before looking around to see the people presiding the hearing – Mayor Hill, Dr. Bartholomew, Commissioner Gordon and… Bruce Wayne, wasn't it? – and he couldn't shake off the dreadful feeling that none of them was going to believe them, and even if they did they would think that Bolton was a hero, someone who simply did whatever was necessary to keep scum like them locked away, never to cause trouble.

_This is a mistake. This hearing is useless, they'll never fire him. And he'll take revenge on us if we dare to accuse him, if we try to…_

Crane was snapped from his terrified thoughts by a faint whimper by his left. He turned to see Harley Quinn's face turning an unhealthy ashen colour – she had just been called to testify, he realized. He watched as she went to her seat dragging her feet, as though wishing she were anywhere but _there_ , and he knew she wasn't going to find the courage to accuse Bolton. None of them was. Crane shut his eyes and slumped his shoulders in defeat as he heard Dr. Bartholomew start questioning her.

"Ms. Quinn? Do you have any complaints against Mr. Bolton?"

There was a moment's pause, and Crane knew even without looking she had paused to shoot a look at Bolton. He wasn't surprised in the slightest by her reply only instants later.

"I got nothin' to say."

"But surely you must have something you wish to-" Dr. Bartholomew tried again, clearly confused, but Harley snapped at him, cutting him off.

"You got a hearing problem, or something? NO! NADA! IXNAY! ZERO! ZILCH! BUPKE! NOTHING! OKAY?" she screamed, despair clearly showing in her voice. Anyone with half a brain would have known she was hiding something, but she wasn't questioned again – yet another unsurprising turn of events, Crane thought with a sigh before opening his eyes.

As Wesker was called to be questioned, Quinn went to stand next to Crane again. She looked at him somewhat apologetically for a moment, but Crane said nothing. There was nothing to be said anymore: they both knew that none of them would speak up. Not with Bolton in the same room, not with the knowledge they might not be listened and then would only give him one more reason to torment them.

"It's alright. I promise you can speak freely here," Crane heard Dr. Bartholomew saying reassuringly to the Ventriloquist as he sat on the same seat Harley had been moments earlier.

Both Wesker and Scarface turned to look at Bolton, and this time Crane could clearly see him sneering – a sneer that made his blood turn into ice in his vein and that clearly had the same effect on Wesker, for the poor man gulped hard. When he finally began speaking, it sounded like each word he spoke took him a lot of effort. "Mr. Bolron… he's a…"

"A hard worker," Scarface immediately cut him off "a real stand-up guy. No complaints here, Chief."

And that was it – the end of Wesker's questioning, which meant it was his turn now. Wesker gave him the same apologetic glance Harley had while he left the seat – or so Crane imagined, for seeing that guy's eyes beneath the glasses was anything but easy – and hadn't he been too busy wishing he could be anywhere else, maybe even back in school to be beaten for lunch money or just for being caught reading, Crane could have almost found it amusing how everyone had accepted as perfectly normal that the puppet would voice both its own opinions and Wesker's.

"Professor Crane," Dr. Bartholomew's voice reached him as if from far away, startling him out of the daze his mind seemed to have fallen into "you've been sitting here for ten minutes. Don't you have anything to say?"

Crane didn't even look up at Bolton: he didn't want to meet his gaze. He just shook his head, his eyes still fixed on his knees. How he envied Tetch in that moment! He would have given anything just to trade places with him, broken ankle or not… then again, the punishment that awaited Tetch for his failed escape was something he had experienced already and that he had no rush to experience again. "No, sir."

"And yet yours was the loudest voice of protests," he heard Bolton speaking up, cruel amusement plain as day in his voice, causing him to wince "you must have some misgivings about my methods."

_He's so sure of himself he's even daring you to speak up against him. He knows no one will believe you. How could you be foolish enough to think you stood a chance?_

Crane kept his gaze lowered, still not looking up. "It seems I was mistaken," was all he said, and after a few instants one of the men had him standing out and escorted him to the other side of the room, where the others were already standing with their eyes low.

"Well, then," he suddenly heard someone – Wayne, perhaps? Odd, he had never met him before and his voice sounded almost familiar – speaking up behind him "based on today's testimony, I propose extending Mr. Bolton's contract for an additional eighteen months."

The thought caused him to stop in his tracks and turn, a terrified gasp escaping him – and not just _him_ , for the others had had the same reaction. Eighteen more months under Bolton's charge? No, it couldn't be! It had to be a nightmare – they _couldn't_! He opened his mouth to speak without even knowing what he'd say, whether he'd find the courage to say anything at all, but someone else spoke – no, yelled – before he could breathe a word. The Ventriloquist.

"No, you can't! You don't know what he's doing to us!" he yelled desperately, only to be silenced by his own puppet.

"Shaddup! Don't listen to jerk-face here! He don't know what he's saying!" Scarface spoke up, but Harley pushed him – and Wesker – aside.

"No! It's all true! If we don't speak up now we'll never get another chance! He threatens us! Takes away our privileges, even when we're good!" she screamed, struggling to break free from the grasp of the men separating her and the Ventriloquist.

"We've heard enough of this nonsense," Bolton growled, getting on his feet with his fists clenched, and for Scarecrow it was easy detective something other than anger in him – _fear_. He truly feared they could be believed, truly feared they could cost him his job or worse… which could only meant they did have a chance.

Crane would never know what it was that made him snap – it could be the realization they really _could_ have him fired and out of their lives, the knowledge that after coming that far there was no turning back for them or the sudden euphoria upon finally sensing _fear_ in Lyle Bolton, or maybe a combination of all that, but now it didn't truly matter. What mattered was speaking up _now_. Crane took a step forward and pointed accusingly at Bolton.

"He says scum like us must be kept in line!" he exclaimed, turning to look at the jury "that's why he chains us down at night and electrifies our doors!

"He held me over a can filled with termites! Ya hear me? Termites!" Scarface was screaming somewhere behind him, apparently having guessed what their only chance was now. Not bad for a puppet.

"He's an animal!" Harley pressed on.

"A monster!" Wesker added.

"Keep him away!"

The barely restrained anger that had been building in Bolton finally exploded. "SHUT UP! All of you!" he roared, jumping on his feet, and Crane could feel the short-lived sense of triumph falter and then fade away as fear gripped his throat once more. His voice died down like that of the others, and he took a staggering step back.

Two men tried to restrain Bolton, but the man was massive and livid with anger and in only seconds he had thrown them off him to turn his attention back to them, feature twisted by fury. It was clear he didn't care about anything anymore – he only wanted to hurt the ones who had ratted him out, hurt _them_ , and he would stop in front of nothing and nobody.

Crane could only whimper and back up to the corner of the room together with Wesker and Quinn as Bolton knocked down the desk he had been sitting at and lunged for them while they could only stare at him and shake with fear and _wait_.

But before he could reach them Bolton tripped over a chair someone – Wayne, wasn't it? – had accidentally knocked over, and fell heavily on the ground. In a blink of an eye several men were on him and, after a few moments of struggle, they manage to restrain him. That, however, didn't keep Bolton from screaming at them, nor it kept them from cowering as though he could still leap on them any second.

"You're all scum! You should be beaten within an inch of you misbegotten lives!" he cried out.

"I've seen enough!" Dr. Bartholomew bellowed. "Lyle Bolton, you're dismissed!"

Bolton glared death at him before speaking, pure hatred dripping from each word. "Before I came here, Arkham was a revolving door of every maniac in Gotham. I kept them in. Me! Now I realize I was wrong to punish those pathetic miscreants! They're only symptoms – you're the _cause_! THE GUTLESS POLICE, MINDLESS BUREAUCRATS, AND CODDLING DOCTORS! YOU SHOULD ALL BE LOCKED UP IN A CAGE WITHOUT A KEY!" he screamed as he was dragged out of the room, away from the jury – and, Crane thought with a wonderful sense of relief, away from _them_. It was only when the door closed on Bolton's shouts that he realized, truly _realized_ that they would never be under his charge again.

And, judging from the brief silence that followed, he wasn't the only one who needed a few instants for the realization to truly sink in.

"So… you fired him, didn't you?" Harley finally asked, her voice unusually small, as though she was afraid that frail hope would shatter if she spoke too loudly.

"Yes, he's been fired," Commissioner Gordon said gently. "I hope the next-" he was cut off by Harley's enthusiastic shrill.

"Oh thank you thank you _thank you_!" she shrilled, giving a rather baffled Commissioner Gordon a tight hug.

"Don't think your puddin's gonna be happy about this. And hey, ya old perv, she could be your _niece_ or somethin'," Scarface commented, causing Harley to immediately let go of the commissioner and Gordon to snort a little embarrassedly.

Wesker chuckled a little nervously. "I, uh… apologize, commissioner," he said meekly.

Gordon sighed, the he finally smiled a bit. "It's quite alright, Arnold."

"If someone here should apologize, that's me," Wayne spoke up, shaking his head. "I truly regret recommending Bolton. He did an outstanding job at the Wayne Enterprise security, and I never suspected he might be downright cruel to those he was supposed to guard. My apologies," he said, but he wasn't looking at Dr. Bartholomew – he was looking at Crane, who recoiled, finally snapping from his thoughts.

"I… what matters is that he'll never come near any of us again," was all Crane managed to say, suddenly feeling tired – relieved, yes, but so _tired_. He faintly hear Dr. Bartholomew babbling something on how it wasn't Wayne fault and how he'd supervise the choice of the next Chief of security himself, but he wasn't listening: all he could think was that it was finally over, that he would never see Bolton again, that he had truly been fired like Tetch had said he would.

Tetch – now that he thought about it, he owed him a goddamn tea party. Maybe they could even convince Dr. Leland to let them have some tea for the occasion. The universe certainly wouldn't implode if they had got just a bit of caffeine for once, would it?

* * *

Certain as he was that he would never see Bolton again, Crane almost couldn't believe his ears when a few months, an escape and a re-capture later he caught wind that the former Chief of security was about to be back in Arkham in a few days – as an inmate.

Even though Dr. Leland had quickly reassured him, Harley and the Ventriloquist – Tetch had just been recaptured after an escape and some failed scheme and was currently in isolation for a while – that Bolton would get no chance to be in contact with them in any way, Crane had been both surprised and relieved to realize the thought he was in the same building as himself didn't scare him.

It felt almost surreal: only months later the thought of seeing Bolton again, even from afar, would have made his blood turn into ice in his veins; the terror would have kept him from even _thinking_ about revenge. Oh, but now it was different, wasn't it? Bolton was no longer in power, no longer invincible: the mighty one had fallen. He was only an inmate now, a human being – and as such he wasn't immune to fear.

And any man subjected to fear was a man who could, and _would_ , someday tremble in front of the Scarecrow.

That was why, the day he saw Bolton walking in front of his cell between two guards to be brought to his own cell, Crane knew that no matter how much time it might take, someday he would have his revenge on him. It would taste so, _so_ sweet – and perhaps he would be generous enough to share it with Tetch and the others.

As the other inmates kept hollering and mocking the man who had once ruled that place with an iron fist, Crane only let out a delighted chuckle. "Now you shall learn new lessons in fear," he said, him smile widening as he tried to picture what Bolton would look like with his features twisted in pure terror and agony in his final moments, screaming until his throat was sore for help that wouldn't come, begging him, the Master of Fear, for a mercy he did not have.

Oh, yes, he would beg – powerless, desperate, _frightened_.

And the last thing he'd see before any remaining scrap of his sanity shattered and his heart stopped by sheer fright would be him, the Scarecrow. It was going to be perfect, just _perfect_.

Scarecrow's laugh resounded in his cell like a death toll.


End file.
